‘Just let me sleep,’ he protested. ‘Five minutes, that’s all I need. Please let me sleep. I was warm there but now I’m cold.’
Giora put his arms under those of Alityros and grasping him round the chest, hauled him to his feet. ‘Come on. Go to sleep in the snow and you’ll never wake up. What happened to you anyway?’
The actor could barely speak for shivering and his words were slurred. He stared at Giora like a drunk, as though trying to bring him into focus. ‘I don’t know. I was so cold and then I wasn’t any more. I was comfortable. Please let me sleep.’
‘Must have gone to sleep in the saddle and fallen off,’ said Josephus. ‘You’re a lucky man, Alityros, if it hadn’t been for your foot catching in one of those stirrup things, the horse would’ve carried on and we’d never have found you. Come on, there’s a caupona at the head of the pass and we’ll get you thawed out there. Just a few more minutes.’ With much puffing and heaving they manoeuvred him back into the saddle and riding in close proximity, to make sure he didn’t fall off again, managed to get him to the primitive wayside caupona.
Little more than an overgrown hut, it was a large, single-storey building, built from the dark local stone and topped with a steeply-pitched roof designed to shed the snow. From the chimney a thin line of smoke streamed away horizontally in the freezing wind.
They left the horses with the stable lad and opened the door into the welcoming fug of the inn, supporting Alityros between them. The hubbub of conversation fell silent and at least thirty pairs of eyes turned their way.
A burly figure pushed his way towards them, barging customers and furniture aside. ‘Are you blind? Didn’t you see the sign?’ he bellowed in execrable Greek, hands on hips. ‘No room at the inn – we’re full. Go on, get out.’
The innkeeper stood head and shoulders over the three travellers and Giora was readying himself for a fight when out of the corner of his eye he saw Josephus reach inside his cloak. ‘Throw us out in this weather and it’s murder,’ he said calmly.
The innkeeper wiped his hands on the front of his grubby linen apron. ‘I don’t care what it is,’ he said. ‘We’re full, now get out before I throw you out.’
‘Recognise this?’ said Josephus, pulling out a cylindrical leather case and holding it under the man’s nose.
‘Yes I do and we’re still full, imperial seal or no.’
Josephus gestured for the man to follow and led him out of earshot to a corner. He waved the leather case at him. ‘I take it you yourself can read seeing how you brought the topic up?’
‘If you’re trying to be funny you and your poncey friends can go and do your comedy act outside –’
‘In here are letters of passage signed by Nero himself giving me, amongst other things, the right to requisition anything I need – such as an entire caupona should the need arise – so if anyone’s going to end up outside, you’re first on the list.’
The innkeeper, unmoved, continued to glare at the Judean with undisguised contempt. ‘You’re a long way from Rome in case you hadn’t noticed. Nero may not even be emperor any more for all I know.’
‘Talking treason isn’t going to help your case. You put us out of here and the emperor will know about it. There’s a ship of the Classis Pontica arriving to pick us up from Phasis and if we’re not there to meet it, the soldiers on board are going to come straight down this road asking questions.’
He took a step towards Josephus who stood his ground, leaving them almost toe to toe. ‘Balls,’ he growled in Josephus’ face. ‘The Classis Pontica is holed up whoring and drinking in Trapezus for the winter. You must think I’m stupid, little man.’
‘As a matter of fact I do,’ replied Josephus. ‘So stupid that you seem to relish the thought of dying in the arena. Any of that lot,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards the caupona’s patrons, ‘would betray you for three asses. Now, do you want to take your chances with the army or do we get a bed for the night, hot food for ourselves and fodder for our horses?’
The argument had drawn a little knot of curious spectators from whom came a stream of barracking and profanities. Their presence had clearly unsettled the innkeeper and Josephus noticed that the man’s fists were clenching and unclenching; for a moment he feared the idiot would sooner face the wrath of a distant emperor than lose face in his own caupona. Eventually he took a pace back and his arms fell limp by his side. ‘Very well – looks like I’ve got no choice, does it? There’s no beds spare but you can get your heads down wherever you can find space. The boy will take care of your animals and if you find yourself somewhere to sit I’ll bring you some food – payment in advance, mind.’
Once it became clear that a fight was out of the question, the group of onlookers lost interest and melted away towards the fire, treating the innkeeper to a few choice comments about the probable state and size of his manhood as they went. He waited until they were out of earshot and then demanded a price which Josephus knew was three times the going rate. Deciding it was better to let him salvage something in return for the public humiliation he’d just suffered, he counted the silver coins into the muscular hand without demur. Stuffing the money into a leather purse at his waist, the innkeeper made to return to his cooking stove in the far corner of the stone hut when Josephus called him back.
‘I’ve got a favour to ask.’
‘A favour? You’ve got a bloody cheek,’ said the innkeeper, his words dying on his lips at the sight of the gold aureus Josephus held up between his thumb and forefinger.
He gazed at the coin spellbound while Josephus continued. ‘Do as I ask and when we leave in the morning you’ll have three more of these.’
‘I’m listening,’ he said, almost twitching with greed.
‘There are a group of men, hostile to his majesty the emperor, who wish us ill. They’ve already tried to stop us reaching Phasis and they may do so again. If anyone else comes here tonight, do not let them in under any circumstances and if they turn up after we’ve gone, then you haven’t seen us. Understand?’
‘Certainly, sir. It’ll be my pleasure,’ he said, snatching the coin from his outstretched hand and winking at him in a way that made Josephus feel distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Good. Bolt the doors now, secure the stables and make sure no light is visible from outside. Oh, and tell your boy to put a sack or something over our saddles and not to say anything about them to anyone.’
‘The saddles?’
‘You heard me. Any more questions and you don’t get paid. Now move.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a gust of icy wind sweeping into the room. It blew the thick woollen curtain over the door almost horizontal and treated the guests sitting nearby to a dusting of snow. The door slammed shut to the accompaniment of shouted protests from those caught in the freezing draught.
‘Where are they? Chuck ’em out,’ shouted the innkeeper, pushing his way across the crowded caupona and looking around for the new arrivals. ‘I said no one else was to come in.’
‘They didn’t.’
The innkeeper swung round to see who’d spoken. ‘Don’t talk crap or I’ll throw you out too,’ he snarled at the young Parthian sitting by the door. ‘You saw the door open. Stop playing silly buggers and tell me who it was.’ He scanned the faces of his clients, trying to work out whether any of them looked like newcomers.
‘They left,’ said the Parthian. ‘Three of them.’
‘Left? What, in this weather? Stop pulling my leg.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he replied with a shrug and gesturing to an empty bench. ‘But I can promise you they were sitting right there.’
‘Bastards left without paying. Well I hope saving twenty asses is worth freezing to death for,’ said the innkeeper with a snort of disgust and stamped off in search of the food he’d promised Josephus.
Josephus joined the others at a table near the fire and heard Alityros complaining that his toes, fingertips and nose were hurting and itching abominably. ‘
It’s a good sign,’ said Josephus. ‘Remember what they told us? If they hurt and itch you’re going to be all right, if they don’t it means they’ll turn black and fall off.’
‘I told you I wasn’t cut out for this. I’ve got bad feet,’ wailed Alityros for possibly the thousandth time since they’d set off on their mission to track down Nathanael Bar Talmai.
‘Serves you right for fibbing to Poppaea about sea-monsters,’ said Josephus. ‘In fairness, she did offer you the option of fighting in the arena instead of coming with us.’
Alityros looked across the table at his companions with the expression of a whipped puppy. ‘At least in the arena I’d have had a speedy end rather than freezing to death in the back of beyond.’
‘Oh don’t be such a drama queen,’ said Josephus. ‘The only reason Giora and I knew we’d lost you was because we couldn’t hear your whining any more. Two more days, three at the most, and we’ll be in Phasis.’
Josephus knew there was nothing to gain by bringing up the unspoken worry that beset them all. Bad weather and a near fatal encounter with members of the Chrestos cult, loyal to Paul, had delayed them by three weeks. None of them knew whether the ship would still be there; and cornered for the winter in a place like Phasis where the writ of imperial law ran fitfully at best, it would be a matter of time before Paul’s people caught up with them again.
Giora, who’d stayed out of the conversation, leaned forward over the table and beckoning them closer. ‘I hate to put a dampener on things,’ he whispered. ‘But I think we’ve got a problem on that score.’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Josephus.
‘It may be a coincidence, but I think three of Paul’s people may have been in here.’
Josephus’ face went white with horror. ‘How do you know?’
‘Just now when you were talking to fatso there and the door opened.’
‘What of it? I saw it all for myself. Whoever it was, he didn’t let them in.’
Giora shook his head. ‘Letting people in wasn’t the problem, it’s the three who left that bother me.’
‘In this weather? You’d have to be mad –’
‘Or fanatical,’ replied Giora. ‘If they’re who I think they are and assuming they survive the weather and get to the next caupona then, well…. we’re done for.’
Chapter Twenty
The United States Embassy, Rome
Flora folded her arms and glared across the table at Hayek and Cohen. ‘I made it quite clear I wasn’t having anything to do with weapons and you promised not to put me in a situation where I might need one.’
‘We promised to do our best,’ said Hayek. ‘We can’t guarantee what other people might do. Surely you understand that.’
‘Yes, Mike, I do; and please don’t patronise me.’
‘C’mon, be reasonable, Flora, let’s say that if despite our best efforts, Special Agent Cohen here runs into trouble and he dies because you can’t use a pistol, then how are you going to feel?’
‘Sorry, Mike. If you think you can emotionally blackmail me by concocting scenarios where I fail to save the world because I won’t use a gun, then you’re wasting your time.’
‘OK, have it your way.’ He turned to Cohen who was sitting next to him across the table from Flora.
Cohen shrugged. ‘Tell her, Mike,’ he said.
‘Tell her what?’ asked Flora.
Hayek sucked his pen and paused before speaking. ‘Flora, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way and I need you to know we did it with the best of intentions –’
‘Did what, Mike? Don’t talk in riddles.
‘Well…we thought we were acting for the best by not telling you a couple of things that, I dunno, might’ve spooked you.’
‘So when you said there’d be no risk you lied to me.’ She stood up to leave. ‘Very well. In that case, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to Pompeii, I’ve got work to do.’
‘Sit down, Flora, you can’t go anywhere right now.’
Flora bit her bottom lip. ‘Oh can’t I?’ she snapped. However, as she stood up she remembered she’d surrendered her passport, credit cards and driving licence and, more embarrassingly, didn’t even know how to get out of the building.
‘If you try to go back to Pompeii you won’t make it beyond Naples. Assuming you even get that far…’
The chill in Hayek’s voice stopped Flora in her tracks and she spun round to face him. ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Bloody Hayek?’
‘No, Flora, of course not. Please come and sit down and let me explain. You’re potentially in a lot of danger. Hear me out and then if you still want to go home, we’ll make sure you get back to Oxford safe and sound and that you have all the necessary protection – I’ve already spoken to Giles Smith at the British Embassy and London have confirmed it.’
Flora walked back to her seat and sat down. All the bad memories came flooding back. ‘Protection? Whatever for?’
‘We think there may’ve been a leak. Word’s got out that you’re in Rome giving specialist advice to the TPC.’
‘But how can they possibly know?’ she asked, the anger rising in her voice.
Hayek’s eyes never left hers for a moment. ‘Perhaps you should tell us, Flora,’ he said, the menace in his voice all too apparent. ‘Who knew you were coming to Rome?’
She thought for a moment. ‘My mum and dad. I called them on my mobile after I’d spoken to Captain Lombardi.’
‘Where were you when you made the call?’
‘Outside the lab in the car park.’
‘Could anyone have overheard you?’ asked Hayek.
‘I don’t know…I don’t think so, and besides I was speaking English.’
‘That’s no guarantee. Did you tell anyone else?’ Flora thought for a moment. ‘Come on, who else did you tell? Don’t lie to us, Flora, we’ll find out in the end.’
Livid with herself for being so stupid, she answered. ‘Only Francesco Moretti. We went out to a pizza place and he was in a funny mood: God knows why but I think he’s jealous of Lombardi and he kept pestering me about why I was going away for a few days. He seemed desperate for me not to go – kept telling me how dangerous it was.’
‘And are you seeing Lombardi?’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, don’t you start. No I’m not and if I was it’d be nobody’s business but my own.’ She thumped her elbows down hard on the table.
‘Look at me, Flora,’ said Hayek. She glared defiantly back at him. ‘Lombardi asked you not to tell anybody, didn’t he?’ She made no reply. ‘Didn’t he, Flora?’ he repeated.
She broke eye contact. ‘Yes, all right: mea culpa. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but he just seemed so depressed and I didn’t want to make it worse by lying to him, that’s all.’ She paused for a moment as the realisation sank in. ‘Surely you don’t think he told anybody? Not Francesco.’
‘We don’t know, Flora. They could be listening to your cell-phone, someone could’ve overheard you talking to Moretti. Whoever it was, we’ll have to find out, but for now we’ve got to do a bit of re-planning.’
‘I screwed up, didn’t I?’ she said, furious with herself for such a beginner’s lapse. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s a bit late for sorry,’ said Hayek. ‘You of all people should know that when someone asks you to keep quiet about something, they mean just that. The entire Campania region is riddled with Camorra influence, from the regional government right down to the waiters in the restaurant you ate at: it touches everything –’
Another wave of guilt for adding to Moretti’s weight of unhappiness swept over Flora. ‘That’s pretty much what Francesco told me,’ she said, inwardly kicking herself.
‘Well he was right. In that part of Italy you just have to think of everyone and everything as linked to the Camorra. You trust nobody.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘You call Moretti, you tell him you’ve had enough and you’re going back to England
. You call your folks and tell them the same thing. You spend a few days back in Oxford and then we’ll get you on a flight – as Lavinia Crump of course – to DC. We’ll leave it up to Giles Smith and his people to make it look like you’re still in the country. It’s not perfect, but it might just work.’
Flora raised her eyebrows. ‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then you might end up wishing you’d had some weapons training.’
The memories came flooding back once more. Oh, Christ, Mr bloody Hayek, if only you knew, she thought.
Hayek shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s your choice but I think it’s a bad one. Now, to business,’ he said, tapping a buff-coloured folder on his desk. ‘This has come from DC. ‘It’s a report from the ACT on a series of thefts from museums. You can read it if you like.’
‘Is it your friend Luzzo?’
‘We think he may be part of it. Whoever it is, the problem just got a whole bunch bigger. All the different national agencies: the specialists like the ACT and TPC and the generalists like Scotland Yard, do their best to share information but it doesn’t always work out how we’d like: data formats are different, there are language problems and it takes more time and people than we’ve got to pull it all together. It’s needle in a haystack stuff, but occasionally we get it right.’
‘And today’s the day?’ asked Flora, her face brightening at the thought of recovering the codices.
‘Yup. How much do you know about the market for stolen art works?’
‘Not a huge amount. Anyway, you’re the experts, why are you asking me?’
‘Because the report tells us that documents, manuscript fragments, even entire works have been disappearing from museum archives over the last five years, maybe longer, and nobody knows why or who’s been taking them.’
‘And none of the museums ever missed this stuff? That ought to surprise me but the way some of these places operate it doesn’t.’
‘So you’re saying that the museums just leave these texts to gather dust?’
‘Until recently, yes. But the technology is so good these days that we can read and date texts that were unusable a few years ago. It’s great for researchers but the backlog of stuff needing cataloguing and recording is huge.
The Seven Stars Page 20